


The Spy That Stole My Heart

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Complete, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Modern Era, Murder, Rusame Secret Santa 2019, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21956293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: Alfred must team up with his greatest nemesis turned informant, on a mission of critical importance to the world. Will they stop arguing long enough to prevent human annihilation?Made for Rusame Secret Santa 2019, addressed to @blazenight-it on Tumblr. Merry Christmas.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	1. A Rat in the Nest

A sleek navy blue suit with silver cuff links. Modern glasses infused with technology. Alfred was an all American super spy, and proud of it. He had infiltrated multiple governments, and taken out terrorist cult leaders. He hit the gym four times a week, honed through years of combat training.

After a dream vacation in Honolulu, Alfred was ready for action. Just in time, his old school burner phone rang. Fresh off the plane at JFK airport, he answered the private line with relish. The voice was old, that of his CIA director father Arthur Kirkland

“The sparrows nest in spring.”

Alfred smirked at the latest code greeting of his top secret sector. “Only in the largest oak tree.”

“It's time to come back to the nest. There is chicks to be fed.”

Alfred wiggled in glee at the news. In code, he had been just told to return to HQ and meet a new agent. Fresh blood was always exciting in his high stakes occupation. “Already flying back.” Alfred hung up and hooted in joy.

He didn't care if he looked crazy! He was maybe getting a new partner today! Contrary to films and books, overseas law enforcement was insanely dangerous without back up. One taxi ride and a secret underground tunnel later, Alfred was in secret underground laboratories.

Alfred waved to the usual boys in their glass wall labs, familiar with all the gadget designing people. He would have died long ago without their unique spy inventions. A few waved back or offered a weak smile. At the end of the long hall, was Father's personal office.

The office was everything an old stuffy bastard would need. Dark wood panel walls, a globe no one ever used, bookshelves filled with crappy books. It was essentially a professor's office packed with secret guns.

There Father was looking so high and mighty, smoking his stupid pipe while slightly facing a painting of Teddy Roosevelt. What a dramatic weirdo. “Hi pops.” Alfred greeted loosely, noting a guest in the extra wing chair. Alfred was finally in view of the mystery man...

He drew his gun immediately, clicking off the safety. “GET ON THE GROUND PUNK!”

It was Captain Crazy, or Komrade Kozloff, or Dr. Doom, or whatever Alfred's nemesis was using as a name these days. The insane genius was a giant of a man from the heart of Russia, with pale shaggy hear and violet cybernetic eyes. He had a luxury wolf fur coat on, with a classy grey suit beneath.

“Ah, you remember me Lapushka?” the long time terrorist leader teased in saccharine voice. He was hardly concerned by the gun pointed at his heart.

“You've both met, obviously.” Arthur began dryly.

“Why the FUCK is he not in jail?” Alfred was so ready to kill this creepy bastard.

“He flipped for the feds. It turns out serving four life sentences is not terribly engaging.”

Well, that made sense. Alfred still didn't like the guy, readying to pull the trigger.

“Agent Jones, I suggest you get along better with Mr. Braginsky. He's going to be your new partner.”

At this Alfred lowered his weapon and put the safety on. “But Dad, he's a bad guy! He trapped me in a temple full of poisonous spiders. Are we forgetting that, or is it that just a hilarious water cooler story?”

“Son, please.” Dad face palmed, patience thin.

“Or the flaming skyscraper I had to jump out of? Or when he stabbed me in the stomach? Because I remember all that _fun_ stuff, Mr. Braginsky... If that's even your name, you piece of shit!” Alfred fumed, openly spilling out his hatred for this miscreant in luxury furs.

“THAT IS ENOUGH BOY! You two get acquainted in the lounge while your gear is put together. You have a mission in France and it is of vital importance. The world depends on it.” With this thundering order, Alfred silenced into a grim frown.

The lounge, a place of soothing blues, greens, and wood textures. It was a place of work and zen for the seasoned agent. Today this vital place held a rat. A sinking Russian rat built like an ox sat across from Alfred. Not a single word had been said since Father's office meeting.

That smirk, that goddamn smug face of Mr. Braginsky. Why the fuck was he smiling so much? What evil plan was he doing now?

Alfred got off the couch in calculated moves, circling his prey. He hated this man, this monster that had challenged him for twelve years. Mr. Braginsky's enhanced eyes trace the movement. “What is your game now?” The agent demanded.

“Chess is always my game, Mr. Jones.” the villain teased coolly.

“You're the pawn this time.” Alfred hissed.

“No, Mr. Jones. We were merely playing checkers before. Things are much more complicated in the real world.” Mr. Braginsky purred this ominous message in that cool Russian accent of his. How dare he sound smarter than Alfred! 

“Fuck you too asshole!” Alfred cursed, stomping off to the VIP bathroom. Ivan chuckled in victory, resuming browsing his phone.


	2. Flights of Fancy

A seven hour flight to Europe had never been so awful. Here Alfred was in first class, with a wonderful flute of Shiraz, and his travel luggage was ruining everything. His travel luggage was an ex-villain, humming nonsense in Russian.

“Did you have to eat all the pretzels? You're already evil enough. You don't have to try harder.” Alfred complained.

“I missed dinner because you drive like a drunk babushka. I had to eat something.” Mr. Braginsky bitched just as much. Without warning, the insane slav popped out a cybernetic eye and began fiddling with it's tiny internal structures. The woman behind them made a low noise of illness and bolted for a bathroom.

“Drama queen.” the paler man muttered.

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Did you really have to pop out an eye on an airplane?”

“Did you really have to drink so wine on the flight?” The evil genius retorted. After a few minutes of inspecting the device, he popped it back into his eye socket. “Oh that's better. My gamma settings were off 0.22 percent.”

“Nerd.” Alfred sneered.

“Lonely alcoholic.”

Ouch. That _hurt_. There wasn't really a good comeback to that, so Alfred changed subjects. “How much longer on this plane with you?”

“Three hundred sixty six minutes, if the weather is co-operative.” Mr. Braginsky was just as impatient to sit next to anyone else.

Okay... Maybe Alfred was impressed by those ninja math skills. He wasn't going to tell his ex-nemesis that. “What's that in human terms, you heartless monster?”

“Just over six hours.”

Alfred groaned at hearing this. He had already run out of things to do.

An older woman in posh clothes called over from the opposing window seat. The best seat, that a fucking terrorist stole from Alfred. “Excuse me, but can you two quiet down? I'm trying to read.”

Ivan offered the most insincere smile ever, and the stranger bought it. “My apologies Madam, my husband and I can get distracted.”

Alfred said nothing, staring ahead with white knuckled grip on his wine glass. He somehow defied the urge to break the glass and cut his new partner with it.

“How sweet! How long have you two been married?”

Ivan was taking sick delight in this ruse, making Alfred ill. “Almost twelve years.”

“I have to talk with you _dearest_.” Alfred hissed, forced to collaborate this bullshit backstory.

“Of course.” The maniac purred, following behind. With one of the bathrooms available, Mr. Braginsky was shoved in forcefully. Alfred squished in after him empty wine glass long abandoned at his seat. With the door awkwardly locked shut, Alfred spoke in a harsh whisper.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

“We had six hours to think of a backstory and you avoided me for five of them. It's not my fault I had to make up things.” Ivan replied in the same cutting tone. He then grinned and winked mischievously. “You seem nervous about my idea. Perhaps you're homophobic?”

“ _I am not homophobic_ , you living Russian trash monster! I am fair and open minded, and fuck you for even –” In the middle of Alfred's rant, a stewardess knocked on the door.

“Is everything okay in there sirs?”

Alfred grinned something evil, stifling his partner with a hand in this cramped place. “Oh yeah, just cleaning up. My dearest husband shouldn't of had _so much_ Indian food before getting on the plane.” He spoke very loud, out of pure spite. 

Ivan silently fumed the rest of the flight. Alfred could play the petty bitch game too!


	3. Bathroom Brawls

After a long terrible flight to Paris, Both men were happy for the plane to land. The problem was, Alfred had a sick feeling. He wouldn't stop staring at the latest burner phone screen.

“Mr. Jones, I thought you would be happier to land on solid ground?” Mr. Braginsky attempted conversation after hours of venomous silence.

Alfred leaned close to the other, showing the text of 'Welcome to Paris'. In the barest of breathes, Alfred whispered “My men don't send texts, and they always speak in code. The code changes four times a year. This is not my people.”

The Russian took a long minute to absorb this information. “An ambush.” 

“Yes. We have to get off the plane...” Alfred sweated a little as he scanned other passengers in his peripheral vision. “If we aren't being trailed already.”

“I scanned our possessions earlier. There was no tracking devices.” Mr. Braginsky whispered after waiting for a stewardess to pass.

“How did you... Nevermind. We need to look different when we get off this tube. I packed a red blazer and a sun hat for this occasion, so we should be... aw fuck.” Alfred cussed mid sentence, looking to his significantly beefier partner. The guy was almost a head taller, in ridiculously fashionable wolf fur and fedora. It was a very memorable look.

The imposing Slav looked very unimpressed right now. “You didn't pack me a disguise did you?”

“I was... um busy.” Alfred sputtered weakly. In truth, he had spent hours throwing darts at Mr. Braginksy's profile picture. This was all while getting counselling from Jack Daniels.

“I am _not_ ditching my coat on this plane. It is the last of my worldly possessions from home.” Ivan growled, glaring darkly.

Alfred groaned and rolled back his head in exasperation. “Christ, fine. Just... Follow my lead.”

They had somehow slipped past two imposter contacts at the flight gate by swapping some clothes and crouching. After all, Mr. Braginsky's luggage still had to be picked up at the carousel. Behind a colourful pillar, they talked while poking a map of Paris in pretense.

“Why did you have to bring two cases of clothes? You're going to get us killed!” Alfred complained softly.

“I wanted fashionable versatility.” The idiot scoffed, as his gaze flickered to the Mickey Mouse patterned cases. They were massive. “There! That my cases!”

“Did you pack an entire wardrobe?”

“... Yes.”

Alfred face palmed. “Okay, we have to be careful and...”

The belligerent new partner ignored him, picking up the cases in plain sight. Both agents saw movement in the crowds, several dully dressed males heading their way. Wow, the Russian could move! Alfred chased after his terrible new charge, aware three enemy spies were there to snuff out his life. They ended up in a massive public bathroom with an L shape to it.

Mr. Braginsky placed a case on the ground and popped it open, frantically digging through his clothes. “Distract them, Mr. Jones!”

“Don't tell me what to do! At least I know how to be a fucking spy!” Alfred gasped in adrenaline, locked in judo combat pose at the door. He was tense and ready to engage.

“STOP SAYING THAT DURAK!” The other yelled from around the corner of stalls.

“Say that to my face eurotrash!” Alfred bristled. Two of their three pursuers burst in the bathroom, guns in lowered position. Alfred punched one in the throat, then kicked the other in the balls. One fell and whimpered while clutching himself in the groin, but the other was still standing while in ragged pain.

Alfred dodged a left swing, then a right hook. “Any time now man!”

The third pursuer rushed in, gun up and primed to fire. Panicking, Alfred kicked that man in the crotch too, then followed with a low leg sweep. The more dangerous man fell, but his gasping cohort was still swinging as he wheezed for air.

“Okay! Ready!” Mr. Braginsky cheered, brandishing a wooden baseball bat. With three swift cracks to the head, all three attackers were out cold. The bulkier Russian was about to wail on them some more, when Alfred shook his head in clear disapproval.

“My bad as you say. I used to be evil!” Mr. Braginsky joked, shrugging harmlessly. The blonde American was not amused.

“This... this is a disaster!” Alfred exclaimed, gesturing to the unconscious dudes on the floor. “You are an untrained thug, and you are going to get me killed!”

Mr. Braginsky tutted him and wagged a finger. “You underestimate me. Russians are very resourceful.” At this he started stripping down the enemy agents. Soon all three were only in boxers and white tank tops.

“Okay... We don't have time to play dress up. They probably had back up.” Alfred commented dryly as he checked out all three attacker's wallets. They were staged, obviously constructed to throw Alfred off the trail.

“Give me a few minutes.” Mr. Braginsky looked so pleased with himself, doing something mischievous. Alfred waited impatiently, then looked over. The ash blonde left an open stall, zipping up the fly of his pants.

“Just going to leave evidence all over the place aren't you.” Alfred drawled.

“No one will believe them now.” Mr. Braginsky schemed, beaming as he tented his fingers in malicious glee. Such a typical bad guy move. Alfred rolled his eyes and checked out the likely mess.

All three men were drooling messes propped up on toilets, covered in piss. They had drug laced needles still in their arms, upper arms bound with rubber tubing. One was in a ripped woman's dress, lips scribbled with red lipstick. They were quintessential meth heads now, the most unbelievable of witnesses.

“Ok Braginsky. That was a pretty good idea.” Alfred admitted openly. Maybe they had a chance of surviving this mission after all.


	4. Tenuous Touch

Night fell, and jet lag was threatening to pull Alfred under. After fleeing to the outskirts of beautiful Paris, the stolen car was parked in the lot of a questionable business. It was an old brick bed and breakfast, green ivy climbing up the walls. Only in France could dilapidated crap be so charming.

Barely awake, Alfred slouched in the drivers seat. His partner decided to stop being an ass for once. “I will get us a room.” 

Alfred took a long blink, barely registering this. “Okay. I'll just... close my eyes a minute.”

Pleasant softness enveloped him. The spy was no longer hunted in Paris. He was back in Japan with his beautiful fiance, Atsuko. Before she was murdered by Jade Dragon. Before the loss of a brother, a mother, a _social life_. Alfred had lost... more than he was willing to admit in his venerable spy career.

Mr. Braginsky was technically near the bottom of Alfred's danger list, but the crazy Russian prick was the most persistent. Aside from trapping Alfred in an ancient temple with heaps of spiders, the Russian had never really tried to kill him.

Alfred hated spiders, and he despised... kinda hated... Okay, Alfred didn't like his new back up. He didn't like him at all! Mr. Braginsky had only slightly redeemed himself by covering Alfred's ass in that bathroom fight.

Alfred woke to the early morning of Paris, bird song by the window. He certainly felt safe and warm in the blanketed arms of... Alfred immediately began hyperventilating in terror, realizing he was in a bed with another larger person. He clawed his way out in fear, rumpling the covers. With an expert tumble roll, he pressed against the wall of this tiny bedroom. He was too bewildered to note the quaint charm of the place.

The lump of blankets that once trapped him shifted. Mr. Braginsky's sleep slack face peeked out. Alfred scrambled for a weapon, finding something to point at the Russian's face. Ivan took a long blink at the TV remote he was being threatened with.

“It's too early for this shit.” The man could be heard mumbling in Russian, hiding under soft covers again. Maybe Alfred knew Russian purely to spy on his arch-nemesis. That wasn't weird at all! The cold war, and the era just beyond it, had warranted this knowledge.

Gathering some common sense, Alfred came to a slow morning realization. Ivan had dozens of opportunities to kill him since arriving in Paris. Today was simply another day to the scheming Russian.

Calming, Alfred set down the remote. Willing himself to breathe normally he chuckled softly to himself. He could see their plate swapped car from the window. He probably fell asleep in the driver. seat, and the big guy carried him to bed.

_Carried Alfred to bed._

Alfred's eye twitched at the invasion of privacy. He would relax with a shower. Yeah. After rooting around for his one carrying case of goods, he left for the bathroom. Steam obscured his performance and imaginary accolades. Alfred sang his heart out as he soaped up his hair.

“When I saw you at the party,” Alfred belted out one of his exercise playlist hits, the soap a microphone. “You were talking to a girlfriend! I just walked across the room and said hello!”

“Hey, hello! I can give you so much more than just a one night love affair!” He was out of sync and missing a ton of lyrics, but this didn't matter one bit. He was finally having a fun time since this hell trip began.

“Hey hello! Hey hello!” Alfred went on.

An soft voice responded on the other side of the shower curtain. “Hello.”

“Keep away! I have ninja skills!” Alfred shrieked in girly fear, whipping the curtain open. The bar of soap was flung with deadly accuracy... and bounced off Mr. Braginsky. The guy looked barely awake, his shaggy hair rumpled.

“Mad ninja skills, Mr. Jones.” The other man greeted flatly, resuming brushing his teeth.

“Why are you in here!? GET OUT!” Alfred hid behind the opaque shower curtain, red with embarrassment.

Mr. Braginsky was not to be dissuaded from his morning hygiene routine. He spit in the sink then rinsed out his mouth. “You have been in here forty minutes, which is enough time to tend to all bathroom needs.”

“Isn't there another bathroom?” Alfred protested, wishing he had a shower gun.

“No. Something of greater importance needs to be discussed.” The crazy bastard was sitting on the toilet now, doing _gross_ stuff.

Couldn't Mr. Braginsky die and go away? That would solve a lot of problems. “Oh my god dude, there's this thing called boundaries. You are invading the hell out of them right now.”

“There is a van waiting outside to catch us, Mr. Jones.” This was followed by a flush of the toilet.

“Did you just shit while I'm still getting clean? It smells like a rotting carcass! How are you this awful, and --” Alfred gagged, then shrieked as the water turned freezing cold. “So cold!” Hurriedly turning off the water to save himself, Alfred took a long moment to soak in his partner's warning.

“Aw shit. They found us already.” The naked agent groaned. “I don't understand how we've been found out. I swapped plates. You checked for tracking bugs... somehow. I'm just taking your word on that. We have old burner phones. There shouldn't be a way to track us! We don't even know what our mission is yet!”

“This is concerning. There is the possibility your precious CIA has a leak.” Mr. Braginsky proposed, now doing who knows what beyond the shower curtain. Alfred did not want to find out by peeking.

The next words made Alfred startle. “Unless you want to wash my back, I suggest getting out of the shower.”

Alfred was out of there in a flash, towels and belongings covering his body. That guy was the worst! For a super suave villain, Mr. Braginsky was more than rough around the edges. Alfred stole a side glance while walking past the window. He didn't want them to know he knew, after all. Sure enough, there was an anonymous white van waiting for them out front.

Who would rent a business van? The Yakuza were far more classy, driving better models. That native American terrorism group Alfred pissed off six months ago had a bad international budget. They couldn't afford to kill Alfred in Paris. A lot of Alfred's foes were in jail, or dead. In this case, one enemy was totally bombing the bathroom with cabbage farts.

This only left two parties currently at large that wanted to truly murder the all-American spy. The Irish Mob, and the Triad. They both had the bad taste and the wealth to rent a van. Hell, they probably had it armoured and packed with goons.

Getting dressed and packed quickly, Alfred despaired at the other half of the room. The Russian's stuff was everywhere, and there was so much of it! Strewn in the clothing chaos was guns, a suspicious amount of drugs, and two M-16's. The previously used baseball bat was propped up the bed, a sparkling princess tiara nearby. This guy was so _weird_.

Mr. Braginsky entered the room a brisk twenty minutes later, looking pleased and obnoxiously stylish. Why he had to look like a runway project everyday was beyond understanding. “What is the plan then? Torture the enemy? Kill them? Torture, then kill them? I'm sure we can waterboard someone in the bathroom. It is so spacious!”

“Can you stop being evil for five minutes while I think? Clean up your stuff too.” Alfred dismissed the insane idea, pacing a little by the door.

“You are such a bossy husband.” Alfred ignored this reply, for it was designed to piss him off. Mr. Braginsky was a special kind of crazy, but at least he listened. He began folding his entire wardrobe and cramming it back in both luggage cases. Ten minutes later, their time was up.

The sounds of something breaking was heard through the floor, followed by screams. “Time to go.” Mr. Braginsky whispered, gesturing the window. Two street dressed goons idled by the van. “Two by the van. Three downstairs. One of them is probably by the rear exit.”

Alfred paused in amazement. “How... how are you... How do you know this stuff? Are you psychic?”

Ivan put a finger to his lips in silence, then pulled a MP-443 Grach pistol out of his suit pocket. Alfred followed suit, taking out his pistol. “Such little toys.” Ivan cackled softly. He shot one of the van guys through a half open window. It was a messy shot through the shoulder.

“Shut up fashion week.” Alfred snipped right back, taking out the other guy. He struck his target, but barely. It was a leg shot.

“Take a case!” Ivan gestured, climbing out the window. In a hot second, he did an expert tumble roll landing. This was while holding a huge luggage case. The display of agility was astonishing for someone so bulky, making Alfred falter.

“They are going up the stairs! We have to go now!” Mr. Braginsky loudly whispered.

It took a long second to register Alfred was staring at the Russian. He realized he didn't know what to say. It was easier to climb out a window for once.


	5. Rock Bottom

Several hours later, they were eating gas stop sandwiches in rural France. Alfred sat in the passenger seat, staring out at the empty lot. Christ, even the countryside here was romantic. Was that flower bushes in the middle of no where? Of course it was.

“Mr. Jones, you shut up for once.” Mr. Braginsky was not one for subtleties.

“So observant, Mr. Braginsky.”

This snide remark made the Russian cringe from something other than terrible food. “I keep telling you, my name is Ivan Braginksy.”

“That's not even your real name! You were kozloff, and comrade crazy, and fucking doctor doom... You remember your doctor doom phase? You bolted me to a table to be melted with a laser!” Alfred bitched, but the ex-villain took no notice.

“You got out fine.”

Alfred stared at his driver in anger. “You tried to kill me! A lot.”

“I failed. A lot.” Mr. Braginsky stared at his sandwich in classic remorse. “I just wanted to... to... It does not matter now. I am on the winning side, yes?”

“Damn right! The security of the American peoples is in my... uh, our hands and we have to stop all the terrorists.” At Alfred's hopeful words, the other man scoffed. “You know big guy...”

“Big guy?” Mr. Braginsky looked puzzled at this new nickname.

Alfred rolled his eyes. “I have to call you something, since you won't tell me your real name.”

“My name is Ivan Brag--” The sentence was cut off yet again by Alfred's monologues.

“I was half expecting you be like... obsessed with me, and have an altar of pictures or something. Like, who makes another person their occupational focus for twelve years and isn't gay for it? It's crazy, and you are crazy. You just don't seem to be that kind of crazy, you know? I think... If you keep being helpful, and stop trying to fucking kill me... This might work. Maybe.”

Ivan paled as Alfred talked, losing his appetite. The chicken sandwich was set down by the cup holders, barely eaten.

Finally Ivan swallowed nervously. Alfred didn't notice. “You gonna eat the sandwich? I'm starving.”

“No.” Ivan answered sharply, hands needing to hold something. _Anything_. He left the driver's seat, fighting the urge to vomit from nerves. 

“Where you going?” Alfred called out, already grabbing the sandwich.

“Taking a piss, stupid American!” The Russian hissed, stomping off to the gas station bathroom.

Alfred shrugged. “More food for me.”

After a while, Ivan returned. His eyes looked a little red.

“Are you okay?”

The question was completely ignored. “According to a pamphlet I stole from that souvenir stand, there's a vacation place nearby. Less than forty minutes. If I'm going to be of any use on this road trip from hell, I need access to the internet. We need to ditch this van, and get a real car. We need cash as well, I'm almost out of euros after that bed and breakfast.”

“Mr. Bossy pants.” Alfred huffed. He wanted to announce plans, and look so confident.

“Mr. Braginsky.” the taller Slav's name corrections were equally ignored. He did make a lot of sense though.

“Well I guess we can use my vacation money. It is a vacation place we're going to.” Alfred pulled out his wallet. It was packed with preloaded cards.

Ivan's eye twitched as he saw this display of wealth. “I paid for all the taxis and the room, when you had money _this entire time_?”

Alfred crossed his arms, smug as ever. “You offered first.”

Ivan mumbled venomously under his breath, but started the van up anyway. They started driving through pleasant farm country, an idyllic landscape. “We need another ride. This van screams villainy. We'll have to steal another car, something domestic and --”

“Or maybe we can rent a car like regular people.” Alfred interrupted him yet again.

“Do you always have to cut in on my ideas?” Ivan bitched relentlessly, in love with his own voice. They both were, in that respect.

“All of your ideas involve stealing and hitting people. And... Let's face it, you monologue.”

Ivan gasped, offended. “I do **not** monologue. My evil motivational speeches are an appropriate length!”

“Remember Venezuela? You had me trapped in a cage. You talked for a goddamn eternity about poisoning the world's milk supply. An eternity! And milk? Why poison milk? Why not water?” As they snipped at each other in catty fashion, they sped right past the turn off they were supposed to take.

“Because I _like_ water, you dumb ox. Why would I poison what I bathe in?”

Alfred was just as petty, and lacking in attention span. “Oh so you're bathing now? Here I thought you were dipping your body in a barrel of perfume.”

“Sandalwood and chamomile are very elegant!”

“Not when you drown your clothes in it!”

They finally realized they were going the wrong way when they ended up in the small town of Dieppe. Both agents were exhausted from poor sleep and being on the run. Amidst the stereotypical french architecture, this particular town boasted lovely beaches. They needed a break from the chaos, as least long enough to gather information.

Alfred's landing party trying to murder him was a puzzling mystery after all. Hotel Windsor was the last stop of the day. The place was a basic hotel with 1980's decor. The staff could be a little rough, but at least they spoke English. The bonus was a glorious view of the sea, one Ivan did not appreciate at all.

“Why do you keep staring at it? It's just a giant death puddle.” Ivan referenced to the sea rudely, brooding on their one bed. Yet again, they were forced to share a mattress. It was the height of the tourist season and they were lucky to get a room at all.

“The sea is not a death puddle. It's fun! We should go swimming tomorrow.” Alfred offered this thoughtlessly, his mind far from the mission. He realized he had crossed some invisible line, one never touched with villainous scum like Mr. Braginsky.

Ivan was aware of this too, reverently silent a moment. When he did speak, it was a vulnerable sound. “Okay.”

Well... Something warm was going on and Alfred didn't like it. He wasn't good with feelings. “I'm getting a drink.” He stammered, needing a shot of the familiar to sooth himself.

“I stole a laptop from a dumb tourist's car. I'll try and contact head quarters.” Ivan responded, mostly back to normal. The guy was just too weird. Even standing around him rattled the senses. At least good old Jack Daniels was readily available to offer advice.


	6. Jack Daniels is a Terrible Therapist

Amber liquid sang in his system, yet truth evaded Alfred once more. He could take the death of his mother Francine relatively well. She was sick at the time, and sometimes parents just died on you. Alfred was a wreck after his brother was killed by terrorists. This horrifying loss had been avenged a dozen times over. The all American spy had infiltrated and disbanded terrorist cells across the planet.

The loss of Atsuko was too much to bear though. She had been Alfred's little Japanese butterfly, the joy of his heart. They had met in combat training, and stuck together since. She was a dangerous vixen, as deadly as she was stunning. She loved baseball. She was a prolific gardener. She was an angel in porcelain skin and raven hair.

She was murdered three years ago on a job.

She was gone, obliterated by Jade Dragon. He was easily the worst villain Alfred had ever tangled with. The high ranking Triad soldier was out there in the world, scheming and proud. One of the few times Jade Dragon had won, it had the highest cost of all.

“So... This is where you ran off to.” A familiar voice chided from behind. The disapproval cut through Alfred's buzzed mood like a knife.

Alfred spun around in his bar stool, the world tilting a little as he did so. “Don't judge me, you Russian fucker!”

Mr. Braginsky raised a brow, arms akimbo. He didn't need to say anything. Alfred was just so drunk, his condition alone was shameful. Here they were, on an insanely dangerous mission for... _something_. All Alfred was doing was getting sauced off tequila and rum.

Mom would be disappointed. Matthew would be disappointed. Atsuko would be disappointed.

“Don't you look at me like that you commie jerk! I'm stressed okay? I don't gotta be judged! Everyone I love is dead!” Alfred snapped at the taller man. In the process, he stood shakily and jabbed Ivan square in the chest with a finger. That unimpressed look never ceased, burning Alfred's soul.

“Stop looking at me! Stop talking to me! Stop reminding me of... Fuck you! That's what!” As Alfred railed against the immovable man, his own balance faltered. Ivan caught him easily, cold cybernetic eyes flicking upwards. He slipped the uncaring bartender enough euros to cover the tab in relative silence.

Only when Alfred was dumped roughly on their hotel bed, did reality settle. Ivan was a motley brew of anger, disapproval, and something else bitter sweet. “What is the _matter_ with you?” he asked in genuine concern.

“You don't have the right to... do this to me! I've lost everything, and I'm fine, then you... you! You fucking marching around looking like a model, and being so damn smart! You make me look bad, and I hate you! This is mind control and I want you to stop!”

Alcohol pried a vomit of confused words out of Alfred's head. Suppressed thoughts and lies pooled out of the train wreck of a human being, until the golden blonde was sobbing his eyes out. He didn't want to feel anymore. He only wanted to work, and drink, and sleep. Atsuko would hate what he had become, what he was doing.

There was only choice words from the ex-villain. “Your lifestyle is destroying you.” There was no more cursed wisdom as the Russian sat next him. Expecting sarcasm, or perhaps a man punch on the shoulder, Alfred was surprised.

Ivan lay with him in measured movement, pulling the drunkard into a soft hug. “Cry Lapushka. It is okay.”

Alfred cried and held on tightly, common sense burned away. Ivan ruffled is hair softly in the process, making Alfred burn with a certain warmth he refused to speak of. Eventually, the agent lay in partial cuddle, emotionally spent and feeling incrementally better. He could easy fall asleep in the embrace of this Russian beefcake.

 _Russian beefcake_.

Blushing, Alfred scrambled to free himself. The problem was being so woozy from drink. Curse you lady alcohol! “I can't, I'm... You used to be a bad guy, conflict of interests... I need fresh air!” His panicking body was pinned to the bed as Ivan crawled on top. He was evaluating Alfred with hooded eyes of hunger.

“It's okay to feel attracted to me.”

Alfred sputtered his defence at the fashionable monolith mounting his hips suggestively. “I'm, I'm not your... this isn't supposed to happen, I'm... I'm supposed to...” As Ivan stripped off his shirt, Alfred found he was unable to look anywhere else. He forgot what he was saying. These past two days he had been tripping over his own feet and words. The cause couldn't, _wouldn't_ be this.

The last button was undone, Ivan's cocky smile making this all worse. Too hot in his own skin, Alfred couldn't stop ogling that scarred pale chest. It was so muscular and huge, amazing under his grazing finger tips. Shit, he was touching the guy. Shit!

Yanking his hand back like Ivan was a fire, Alfred weakly protested. “This is wrong, I'm not even... I'm not supposed to...” his speaking skills failed as his hand was guided back to firm pectorals. “I...”

“Stop fighting it, Fedya.” Ivan whispered, rutting his hips just once against Alfred's half hard cock. The struggling male beneath keened and trembled from delicious friction. In all this distraction, Ivan was now on top and holding Alfred close. Hungry kisses peppered his neck, a crawling tingle of heat following.

“S-s-stop it I'm serious.” Alfred whispered weakly, his heart thundering. His control was hanging on by a thread, an alien sensation. He hadn't been this wound up since... a long time. The American forbid himself from sex or attachments ever since his fiance's death. This oath was disintegrating rapidly.

“Make me, Mr. Jones.” Ivan teased, capturing Alfred's mouth in a passionate kiss. The world fell away as they were both consumed by instinct.


	7. Pillow Talk

Alfred was staring out the window in early morning, sipping mediocre hotel coffee. There was lots to do, people to contact, and events to process. One event was difficult to digest, more than any other. Alfred had sex with his longest running enemy.

What was wrong with him? Sure Ivan was stylish, and resourceful, and weirdly fit. Did he hit up a local gym? Was this attraction? It couldn't be, it was just observations. Friendly observations, with a slight bias! Maybe Ivan's eyes were cool too. Alfred _had_ to ask him about that sometime.

_No, he was not thinking about this again!_

Alfred gripped his mug too hard and stared at the sea for answers. Ivan stirred from slumber, stretching luxuriously. The view of Alfred in boxers was one the ex-villain always appreciated. Why else would was Alfred chained to a metal table so many times?

_To see that fine body spread, of course._

Biting his lip and sighing, Ivan rolled to the edge of the bed. He had just enough reach to loop his arms around Alfred's midsection. The more nimble man yelped and dropped his coffee. Now flat against the wall, typically suave masculinity gave way to panic.

“Don't!” Alfred hissed. He was rather puritan, uncomfortable if not in a sleep shirt and boxers. This made Ivan's absolute indecency so much more shocking. The Slav served collectively half his entire criminal career in jail. So much time the slammer ironed a few rules into a persons head. Prudence, morals, and sexual restrictions were gone. Ivan had been a prison wife to dangerous men over the years, and had several wives himself. He knew what he saw in Alfred, and he hungered for it. Getting it was surprisingly easy.

“I am not doing anything.” Ivan lied, showing off his hard earned body in sultry pose.

“Stop doing... _that_. You're being all... Stop it.” Alfred sputtered, fighting natural attraction. It was probably that dead fiance holding him back. Right. Normal people were so clingy about that stuff. No matter, Ivan could play a few games.

Ivan stayed where he was, never ceasing his nonverbal flirting. “I made contact with headquarters last night.”

“You did?” Alfred forgot his squeamishness easily as Ivan started up the stolen laptop.

“Yes. I hacked into your father's private server while you were drinking yourself into an early grave.” Ivan spoke calmly, all the while not bothering to hide his nudity. Given a task, the modest American agent seemed to forget his shame.

Sitting next to Ivan on the bed, Alfred watched in fascination as Ivan did computer type stuff. “Oh you do computer stuff too?”

“I do the computer stuff, as you say. Your lovely American prisons let me pursue a programming course.” Ivan typed away, also distracted. After several windows and punching in code, a primitive message service popped up. There was only two users in the chat room, Mr K, and Mr B.

“Coldwar short names. Nice.” Alfred commented, sharing a high five with Ivan impulsively. Goddamn it! He was not supposed to be chilling with former bad guys! Rolling eyes at his own behaviour, Alfred returned his attention to the computer screen. Ivan had cooked up a user for Alfred, “Mr J”. Thus they shared the keyboard in texting conversation.

Mr K: Why are you here? The database is still compromised.

Mr. B: We know.

Mr K: We?

Mr J: Hey dad.

Mr K: Don't call me that. We could be watched.

Mr J: DAD DAD DAD DAD DAD

Mr K: Why do I bother?

Mr J: Because you love me.

Mr B: We have been ambushed constantly since arriving.

Mr K: Do not use the phones. Go dark after this conversation.

Mr J: What happened?

Mr K: A cyber attack, the biggest the CIA has had in years. It's definitely from the Triad. You guys were sent to intercept them in Paris. They are transporting a nuclear fusion weapon that could flatten cities.

Mr J: Holy shit!

Mr K: Language, boy.

Mr J: Language, boy.

Mr B: Can we move this along?

Mr K: I'll send the addresses. Good luck agents!

The chat room went dead after. Alfred and Ivan looked to each other, realizing the gravity of the situation. The CIA was compromised in some fashion and a nuke was floating around unobserved. They were one of the only teams on the ground, a decent drive away.

“Mr. Braginsky... No... _Ivan_. We might be the only ones that can save the world from this nuclear weapons deal. You may be a terrible trash person, but I need you to bring your best skills on this mission.”

Alfred was deadly serious as he said this. It made Ivan melt over how authoritative this was. The Russian's cold pride relented to something that should have been said a long time ago. “... Mr. Jones...”

“We had sex. Might as well call me Al.”

“Alfred... This all might be my fault.” The confession was a massive burden off Ivan's shoulders.

Alfred propped his head on his arms as he partially lay down. “Do you want to buy a nuclear fusion weapon?”

Ivan shook his head, about to speak.

Still Alfred was cheerful as he went on. “Do you want to level France to dust?”

“No but...”

“So this isn't your fault then.”

Ivan hid his face in rarely expressed shame, sighing. “I worked with very bad people for a long time. Killers, murderers, assassins... insane reclusive crime lords. They come with the job. I didn't have a crush on you for... the first few years, so there was no conflict of interests. You were... are hated by most organized crime organizations. The Triad in particular...”

Alfred narrowed his framed gaze in suspicion. He had a bad feeling this had something to do with Jade Dragon.

Nervously, Ivan continued on. “Jade dragon was my _main boss_ for a few years, and I was in charge of keeping an eye on you. Literally. I bugged your house, your cars, your... Your everything. I heard every breath you took for three years. It was inevitable I would... fall for you. Three years ago, I over heard plans to have you killed. I knew the plans would work this time, so I disobeyed orders. I stole the files, and wiped Jade Dragon's computer clean. He was so angry, he... He killed your fiance instead. I knew too much, so he took my eyes... changed me...”

There was a dead silence between the men. Alfred was obviously pissed, so Ivan finished his tale before he was judged. “I wasn't cut out for the life anymore. I gave up, turned myself in. I gave the feds, the CIA, the FBI anything they wanted to know for less time. I know... I threw everything away, but... This mission is because I couldn't...”

Ivan stifled a soft sniffle, hiding partially under the blankets. “... I couldn't kill Jade Dragon while he was sleeping. I went soft.”

Alfred's conflicted trance broke to confusion. “You... you had access to Jade Dragon while he was sleeping? He's the most insane reclusive crime lord in China, how did you...”

Now bundled in blanket, Ivan blushed looked away. “We were together for a few years.”

Alfred finally blew a gasket. “You're Jade Dragon's ex? You could have started with that!”

There was a head tilt and an innocent blink from the crazy Russian. “I thought I did?”

“NO you did not!” Alfred paced the small room a little, outraged. “Is this why he's been trying to kill me for three years?”

Ivan shrugged. “I don't know. I was in prison until last month.”

“ **Me running around with a dude's boyfriend might be a reason to kill me!** ”

At this outburst, Ivan shushed him. “Volume, Mr. Jones. We might not be bugged, but the walls are thin.”

Alfred steamed in a fire of emotions. “I need a drink.” He took out his flask, about to take a swig. Last minute he screwed the cap back on. Last time he was buzzed, Ivan rode him like a horse. He had slept with the boyfriend of the most terrifying Triad officer to conquer Europe. His dick was totally getting chopped off if he was captured.


	8. Still Shadows

The duo had been on stakeouts for three weeks and money was getting tight. They needed to make progress before they didn't have enough to cover plane tickets. Other developments came along in times of such extended contact. Alfred was no longer malfunctioning when Ivan threw sparing glances at him. Instead, a new problem appeared.

Alfred couldn't keep it in his pants. After three years of self imposed abstinence, He was a savage. Given any opportunity, He was crawling on top of Ivan to give or receive often. Those sweet glossed lips were undeniable, a spell he couldn't escape.

Did he have feelings for Ivan, the guy that basically tortured him socially for over a decade? It was a complex situation, with feelings of some kind at work. What they were was unknown. What he needed was time and space away from Ivan, to sort his head. Staring at a busy warehouse with a perfect americano, Alfred was lost in thought.

Ivan was in the passenger seat, fake reading a magazine while also observing the drop site. “Do you think I'm a spring or a summer?” He asked, tapping a fashion picture.

“An early spring. The summer colours would make you look like a vampire.” Alfred answered easily, sparing a fast look.

“Really? I thought that red would bring out my eyes.”

Yet another compliment slipped out of Alfred without his consent. “Your eyes are pretty without it.” Alfred paused after, realizing what he had said. This was happening almost everyday, and it was eroding any machismo he had at record rates.

Ivan made one of those noises again, happy and soft. He seemed to do that when quite pleased. “You're so nice to me.” He hummed.

It was true, Alfred couldn't stop spoiling Ivan. He looked so good in furs, silks, and jewels. It helped that Ivan demanded these things, giving the best oral sex Alfred ever had in his life. Here was the result, a spoiled brat of a man in a new designer coat complete with scarf. Huh... Maybe that's where all the money was going?

This lesser concern was ignored as a question was asked. It was one bothering Alfred since breakfast. “Why me?”

Ivan set down the magazine, expressing rare bashfulness. “It's you. You're funny and proud and... You're you. You're a star and and I just want... I want to be a star with you.”

Alfred was baffled. He was trying to be the best super spy ever, obviously. There was better spies though. Granted, their lives were somewhat miserable and they lacked any semblance of social life. Alfred knew he couldn't have it all, but he tried with Atsuko. After the love of his life died, he threw himself in work and functional alcoholism.

Now there was this confusing man, with his teasing laughs and designer flirting. The taller Slav was threatening to engulf Alfred's common sense entirely. Other people had wanted to be Alfred's owner, or arm candy. Ivan wanted to be a star alongside him, equal in brightness. It was... a tempting offer.

“A star huh.” Alfred muttered, blushing under so much attention. In a spark of genius, he looked to his assigned partner. “I have a proposition for you.”

Ivan smirked, laying a gentle hand on Alfred's thigh suggestively. “Oh?”

The idea was insane, but any kind of relationship with Ivan was going to need rules. They couldn't keep their hands off each other most of the time. Obviously something was sparking between them. Still, Alfred lightly slapped Ivan's exploratory hand away.

“You can't kill anymore people if we're going to keep up whatever this is.”

Ivan's jaw dropped as he withdrew his touch. “That's not... I'm an ex-villain! I used to kill for anyone that threw cash at me. You can't expect me to just... become a moral god fearing person!”

“You want in this temple, you gotta pay.” Alfred countered. Ivan promptly dug out his wallet and started looking through his bank cards. “Pay in being merciful, you giant pervert. I'm not taking money for sex. That's weird.” Alfred scoffed.

The Slav put his wallet away. “There is nothing wrong with the world's oldest profession.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, then sank in his chair. “That's the guy. Look casual.” Sure enough, there was the shady weapons dealer they were informed about. It was some Chinese fellow with a case of goods. This was the time and place this deal was going down. After casing this shifty factory in three different cars for weeks, Alfred was almost happy to see this bastard.

Ivan crouched below window level, giggling like an idiot. Alfred shushed him as they both hid, constantly challenged by his companion. “What part of shush do you not get?”

“We have no plan for getting in, we had no hope of survival!” Ivan noted, giggling madly like he did.

Alfred schemed, then grinned. “How much would your ex-boyfriend want you back?”

“He is obsessed. He killed my favourite barista for winking at me.” Ivan rolled his eyes at the memory of such jealousy.

Alfred cocked finger guns at his partner. “Prepare to act your heart out big guy.”


	9. Forget Me Not

Alfred was bound and gagged as he was towed along. Ivan held the rope as they walked the long halls of the impromptu weapons factory. Long shadows accented the dangers of this place, and framed the current mood. Ivan didn't need to speak to get in, long known as Jade Dragon's insane lover. After all, Ivan had assassinated people with so much as a pin prick.

The villain couple was also known for their spectacular break ups and reunions. Typically Jade Dragon would lose his temper and destroy something Ivan loved. The resourceful Russian would strike out on his own, until he was wooed with gifts of luxury and and extravagance, typically in romance cities.

Last time had been the very last time, not that anyone realized it yet.

Ushered into a generous industrial office, Jade Dragon himself was seen lounging. He was a fair bit older than Ivan, going salt and pepper in his longer hair. It was true, Ivan once had a thirst for older wiser partners. He craved power through knowledge more than anything, especially at the beginning of his criminal career.

The ominous Triad officer took in his ex-lover with jaded expression, lips pursed. “You come crawling back to me, like a bug. Have you changed your mind? Do you see the truth now?”

It was well known the Jade Dragon loved a good monologue, so Alfred was not surprised by the creepy greeting. Alfred instead took in his surroundings as he held his ropes on. In truth he was barely bound at all. Ivan had camera technology in his false eyes, so no doubt this place was well documented already.

Ivan brought out the works, painted with emotion. “I was... I was wrong. He was nothing like I imagined. He was lies and awfulness, and I was a... a fool to think...” Ivan stifled a convincing sniffle of grief with a monogrammed handkerchief. It was a duplicate of one Ivan burned in rage, a gift from his terrible dragon. “I need you more than ever Yao.”

The villain looked over Ivan with brown eyes of cold earth. His gaze softened at the use of a possible name and that handkerchief. No one knew who the Jade Dragon really was, so this pet name was intriguing to Alfred.

The mysterious criminal was not without passion, trying to convince himself as he spoke. “Pathetic, Ivan!You left me! Me, who gave you everything, for this... this trash?”

This 'Yao' glared at Alfred with the burning hatred of a thousand suns, his contempt so pure. “Because that's what he is. Useless trash! He looks like he would break if you had your way with him! You know I'm much, much, much better than anyone you've had!”

Ivan seemed immune to this display of ego, putting on the water works. “I was wrong! I missed you every day of that two years in terrible American prison. I saved myself when I could for you. I'm... I'm ready to be yours forever. I know what lays beyond. There's no one like you!” Ivan rushed forward, desperately kissing Jade Dragon. They made out with increasing intensity, grabbing each other as Ivan wriggled onto the older man's lap.

Alfred burned with disgust and slight jealousy at the act, but kept his cool. Taken by surprise, the evil demeanour of Jade Dragon melted. It was visible now, how hopelessly in love with Ivan he was. Gasping a little for breath, the Chinese man looked up at his great Russian prize.

“Minions... take the American scum to a holding cell. I do not wish to be disturbed.” Jade Dragon mumbled, Ivan practically undressing the man as he kissed everything.

“Make love to me my emperor. Make me whole again.” Ivan keened, tugging at his ex-boyfriend's clothes.

Blushing indecently, the boss barked out angry orders to his black uniformed goons. “OUT, everyone out!” Cringing, all five bodyguards left. Soon it was just Ivan and Jade Dragon, watching simmering passions.

“Are you sorry for what you did, my winter flower?” The older man whispered in need, peeling off Ivan's designer layers. Furs gave way to silky lingerie, stealing breathy gazes. “Oh, Vanya... You remembered...”

“I remembered my love. Take me. Take me now.” Ivan purred this, his breath hitching as Yao ran exploratory fingers over pale skin and racy black silks. The seducing ensemble was skimpy as it was tantalizing, complete with stalkings and ribbon garters.

There were soon a room over on Yao's bed, the infamous gangster naked and eager beneath Ivan's toned thighs. “Just one more thing I prepared for our reunion.” Ivan teased, batting long lashes.

“Anything, anything! I want to be inside you, more than... Please!” Yao whimpered, arching as a wet thumb traced over the head of his eager cock.

Ivan grinned widely in insanity, head tilting as he pulled a knife out. It had been hastily hidden under a pillow as things proceeded minutes ago. “Happy anniversary darling!”

Jade Dragon screamed.


	10. Bad Life Examples

Using his epic spy training, Alfred easily escaped his ropes and his cell. Silently taking down and hand cuffing most goons to wall pipes, he now had to rescue Ivan. Who knew how scared Alfred's new sexual interest was? It was only common sense that the shining knight of American justice would rescue a beefy Russian damsel.

With few enemies awake or free to move around, Alfred started a systematic sweep of the compound. The place was absolutely enormous. Ivan was sure to be around here somewhere...

A piercing scream echoed in the distance. It was a familiar sound to Alfred, having defended himself with deadly force before. Someone was getting murdered, and it was noisy as hell.

“Please don't be Ivy, please don't be Ivy.” This mantra was whispered as Alfred ran towards the source. Through halls and offices he sprinted, ripping past where Jade Dragon was earlier. He ended up in a nice bedroom, Ivan in alluring ribbons for clothes. He was holding a bloody knife, still sitting on top of a nude... Oh, what a mess.

“Ivy, oh Ivy... You promised no killing. You _promised_ me.” Alfred sighed in resignation, looking away from the seeping silent corpse.

The Russian was crying his eyes out, not making a lot of sense. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I couldn't... let him live. He took my beautiful eyes. He took my eyes and I couldn't... I'm sorry.”

Gingerly pulling Ivan away from the bed, Alfred handed him a napkin from the car. Ivan dabbed his eyes dry with it. “You're mad at me.” The crying Russian whimpered

Alfred shook his head. “I'm not. I'm just disappointed. I thought... I thought I got through to you.”

“I'll make you proud of me.” Ivan promised with with loving eyes, and it was undeniable. They did share a connection, nebulous and erotic as it was. There was something here, and it was worth fostering.

Alfred swooned, just a little. “I'm going to hold you to that big guy.”


	11. The Villain That Stole My Heart

**ONE YEAR LATER**

Alfred practically skipped with joy as he crossed the grey parking lot. He had a reason for being so happy to visit a maximum security black site. This was the location of his bizarre boyfriend for the last year. With intense interrogation, followed by therapy, Ivan was seized for the brutal mutilation of Yao Wang. Better known as the Jade Dragon, the Chinese man died with many secrets the CIA and FBI would never learn.

Arthur was angry, to put it lightly. Originally, Ivan was going to be dropped back in prison until his sixties. Ivan's false eyes were the salvation of the entire botched France mission. Hundreds of pictures had been taken by the cybernetic devices, all stored on Ivan's smart watch.

The flood of information was enough to wash Triad influence out of Paris for a while. Ivan simply knew too much to be treated badly for long. After every droplet of information was dragged out of the broken Russian, he was set up with a gorgeous prison suite and fine foods. He even had Netflix and a fancy latte machine. This was the prize for the betrayal of all his co-workers. The price was steeper than expected.

Ivan held out an entire year under this boring yet intense time. This gesture won over Alfred's heart evidently. It truly concerned Arthur as he walked along side his son. Alfred was positively in love with a no good criminal, prancing to the prison entrance. Prancing with _flowers_.

There was no possible way this would end well.

“Don't you think this idea might backfire?” The father commented on his bat shit insane son.

Alfred scoffed at his father. “Stop being ridiculous. Living with him in house arrest is basically getting married. Which we were going to do anyway over the internet. Isn't the internet the best!?”

“The... What? You two were going to get married? I...” Arthur struggled to grasp the crazy path his son had slipped down.

“The internet, Dad... The thing that rules the universe? Keep up.” As Alfred passed the first series of gates, Arthur feared they entered the gates of moral hell.

Things would only get only worse, Arthur was certain.


End file.
